Finding Peace While Fighting Cancer

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

It’s the damnedest thing. Despite this month being my 40-year anniversary with high impact pain, and while I battle an aggressive breast cancer recurrence, people tell me that I look healthy and happy.

Stranger still, I feel more grounded and centered than ever. In fact, I’m down-right peaceful. So much so, when I recently saw my osteopath, she said that I no longer needed her treatment because I was “in the flow.”  

After delving deep into this disconnect, I’ve unearthed the workings that have brought me to this sacred place. And now that I’m here, I plan to protect my peace.

To start, I’ve learned to neutralize platitudes and their associated shame. When people blow by the gravity of my cancer recurrence by assuring me that staying positive will save the day, I politely dismiss their cliché as unhealthy and unrealistic.

There’s no one alive who could face a second round of breast cancer without being mad as hell. That being said, I’ve given myself permission to move through the five stages of grieving – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance – which has allowed me to come to an authentic level of positivity… and peace.  

Also, I’ve taken control of my cancer care. This is a big deal. After listening to my oncologist’s by-the-book treatment plan, I shared that, while well-intended, I thought his recommendations would kill me.

Instead, he and I sought guidance from trusted sources, and agreed on a plan that was tailored to my individual needs, including the complications that Complex Regional Pain Syndrome present. I won’t lie to you, the treatment is at times brutal. But I’m choosing it, and with control comes peace. 

And there was a miracle.

With the synergy of my current treatment (low dose chemo, immunotherapy infusions and a robust dose of self-care), my tumor quickly dissolved from the size of a ping pong ball to one that can’t be found. Wearing a Cheshire cat grin, my oncologist recently shared that in his 45-year career he’s never seen such a response.

So how did my body do that? Yes, the med cocktail certainly played its part, but I’m convinced that finding peace is my secret sauce to healing.

Besides taking control of my medical care, I’ve become religious about upping my terrain-game for the healthiest body and mind. I’ve switched to a vegan diet with lots of fish, committed to an hour-long workout each morning, get in bed early to promote deep sleep, and have radically reduced my stress by identifying and removing toxic people from my life. These are the self-care strategies we hear of time and again, and for good reason. When practiced, they work! 

Letting Go of Trauma

For more peace, I’ve vastly upped my game by adding a “paths-less-taken” approach.

Like most of us with pain, I suffered much childhood trauma, the foundation of my un-wellness. I’m working diligently on trauma release using various methods, one being forgiveness. Through daily visualization and meditation, I’m practicing the art of letting go of trespasses.

Instead of allowing anger and hurt to turn into psychic stagnation, I acknowledge the negative emotion, thank it for lessons learned, and send it on its way. Forgiveness is a choice, and I’ve decided to free myself from poisonous energy so I can move forward with peace.

I often remind myself that when a person is cruel, it’s not about me, but rather a challenge they’re experiencing on their life path. And when I can, though still a work-in-progress, I light a candle and wish them well.

Most surprising, I recently stumbled upon my biggest trauma-releasing, peace-inducing tool, as I intuitively knew this blast-from-the-past would move my wellness ahead by eons.

Several months ago, I surprised myself by bringing my grandmother, who passed long ago, into my visualizations. Soon other long-gone relatives arrived. Of particular interest was my Aunt Grace, who continues to lead my healing rituals. Grace died a couple decades before I was born, but I’ve always felt a bond so close, I’ve dedicated my life work to her. She is my guide and my angel.

I now understand that our connection comes from sharing similar traumas. We were both the “fixers” of impossibly broken families and both got profoundly ill at 21. Tragically, Grace died from leukemia. Mine was a different death when CRPS ravaged my body.

Through arduous work and by facing hard truths, I now see that, like Grace, most of my ancestors suffered profound trauma, and by sharing their genes, I’ve inherited the injury that binds me to disease. Science calls this epigenetics.

By healing the wounds of my ancestors through rituals, I’m healing myself. Additionally, I’m breaking cyclical familial patterns by not passing along the burden of traumatic energy to those I engage with.

These seemingly “woo woo” rituals appeared novel – hell, I thought I’d invented a breakthrough therapy! That was until I described them to an integrative trauma expert who shared that “Ancestral Healing” is a real thing, scientifically proven and all.

Life is precious. So is our life preserving, life enhancing peace. Whether I’m on my way out now or have 30 more years of kick in me, I’m focusing on protecting this essential resource. 

I’m convinced that most of our pain, physical and emotional, springs from inner tumult driven by deep wounds, many of them handed down. Through intentional work and practice, we can quell that upset and find peace. Then the challenge is to hold our peace sacred, to protect it from internal and external “vampires” that aim to trip it up.

My mom turned 90 last month and is suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s, I believe brought on by trauma. That trauma has passed down to me, seeding a lifetime of illness.

I recently spent time with Mom at her new memory center, and later that day delighted in meeting my newest grand-niece named after this beautiful, generous and loving woman.

I hope that by healing the wounds our ancestors couldn’t, I’ll help this li’l darling have a pain-free, peace-filled life, one she can, in turn, hand down.            

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has lived with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 19 co-morbidities for four decades, and has been battling cancer since 2020. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”

Breathless: My Anger at a Failing Body

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

Once upon a time, life was easy. Breathing was a breeze, lungs filled with promise and hope.

Then I got sick. Really sick. Of late, when I look back at the last forty years, I’m uncharacteristically angry that my Complex Regional Pain Syndrome stole my life, taking that breath away.

I’m spitting mad that my body keeps failing me. It’s seemingly giving me the finger for having a positive attitude and taking care of myself, as all I get is sicker and sicker. I’m tired of being the good sport, forever the one with “super human strength” who flashes a smile no matter what.

I hate 2022, as it’s trending to be my most miserable year yet. If it ain’t one thing, it’s another. To start, I had a monster of a virus all of January, most of March, and my symptoms are here again in mid-April. I can’t shake this ever-revolving bug that perplexes my doctors.

They can’t figure out my debilitating fatigue, laryngitis and diarrhea, all complimented by vertigo and, yes, difficulty breathing. Even my once heavenly swims have turned into an exercise of wheezing and gasping.

I recently got a work-up including labs and chest x-ray, but everything came out normal. A friend mentioned her concern that I might have symptoms of an impending heart attack. Yeah, wouldn’t be surprised.

I’m also mad as hell because COVID never ends. At least not for me. When we were all in this together, the isolation was do-able. In fact, it was comforting because, for once, I wasn’t the only one alone.

But now I’m left behind because being immuno-compromised with an assembly of autoimmune conditions puts me at high risk for long COVID. I feel lonelier than ever watching the world reconnect, while hearing of new variants and upcoming surges.

To top it off, my vaccines and booster shots were hell. With each dose, I’m left reeling with intense fibro flares, hives and many of my previous chemotherapy side-effects. Oh, did I mention I fought Triple Negative Breast Cancer in 2020, the WORST thing I’ve ever been through?

Breathe, Cynthia. Breathe.      

And then there’s this. During the rare times I escape the condo, N95 dutifully strapped on, I resent the never-ending pity looks and pointing because I use a wheelchair. Folks, it’s been FOUR DECADES of this transportation humiliation. I feel like I’m going to lose it the next time someone looks beyond me to ask my partner John what my name is. Or gives me the classic, “It’s so good that people like you get out.”

I find myself staring in awe at people who can walk without a thought. They’re free and don’t even know it. I must admit, these days I resent them for it. When I’m outside, seems it’s always just me and some little old man who are in this wheeled imprisonment. I even resent the old man, cuz he got his turn at life.

This post wouldn’t be complete without exhaling a potentially catastrophic cliff-hanger. Yeah, I’m talking about the aforementioned “Big C.” Since remission, I live in constant fear that it will recur much more aggressively in the first two years, what Triple-Negative is masterful at!

A few days ago, I went in for my periodic breast exam, a ritual that keeps me from hyperventilating during my MRIs. The exams have always been clear, which helps me get through the maelstrom of “scanxiety.”

I felt oddly confident this go-around, even enjoying small talk with my oncologist. After all, this was the lead up to my two-year MRI. I was almost home free when the energy in the room shifted. Completely. My doctor found an enlarged lymph node under my arm that he thinks is a recurrence. Or, better yet, a whole new cancer.

I’m suffocating.   

While I await my imaging results, I’m short-tempered and yell a lot. The cats run under the bed. Fearing the worst, I wonder if my body can fight aggressive cancer again. Let’s face it, I won’t have a good shot the second time around.

Also, in my darkest moments, I’m not certain I have a life worth fighting for. I love myself deeply, but am struggling these days to find gratitude in a world that feels devoid of grace.

I don’t get it. I swear, I’ve been a good person my whole life. I’ve played by the rules, worked hard and always helped the less fortunate.

People tell me to be positive, but I’m just angry. Maybe my rage will turn back to strength and unflagging perseverance. Maybe not. All I know is that I can’t catch my breath. 

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has lived with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 19 co-morbidities for four decades, and became a cancer survivor in 2020. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”

Finding Life in the Midst of ‘The Pain-Cancer Connection’

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

In 2019, when I first heard my worst diagnosis, Triple-Negative Breast Cancer – yes, the rare and aggressive kind – I instinctively knew it was tied to my 37 years of high-impact pain. Indeed, for a couple of decades, I’d commented often to my partner, John, that I didn’t understand how my body could take the toll of never-ending torture without getting terminal cancer.

Like so many of us with pain, my chronic depression kept me wondering if that scenario might be a blessing. In fact, my greatest struggle was endlessly debating whether life with pain was worth living. 

Here’s the stunner! After hearing my grim diagnosis, I ultimately deduced it was. So much so, not only did I choose to fight, I took a deep dive into discovering the best chance at surviving my cancer well with the quality of life I still had intact. In short order, I armored myself with a boatload of education and committed to using integrative care all the way. Making bold, unconventional treatment decisions upped my chances to stay on the planet.

I won’t sugar-coat it; fighting breast cancer while trying to keep 19 overlapping pain and fatigue conditions in check was the hardest thing I ever did, and the jury’s still out as to whether I’ll survive. But I’m damn happy and proud to be here today, and want to share what I’ve learned.

Enter “The Pain-Cancer Connection,” the theme of For Grace’s 2021 Women In Pain Conference on Friday, September 24.

Last year when I sat down via Zoom with my sisters in pain that make up For Grace’s event planning committee, I was in the midst of chemo, bald and very ill. After pitching the theme and telling these badass women about the connection between pain and cancer, I was deeply touched that they wanted to move ahead.

None of these women have had a serious cancer diagnosis, and executing a conference, especially in the midst of COVID, is damn-near impossible work. I love these women! They play a critical part in helping me turn suffering into meaning, my primary life force.

CYNTHIA TOUSSAINT

As some wise woman shared, “All good things come in time.” As such, this virtual conference is a year late due to my rough recovery. That’s another thing about my sisters – they unconditionally supported, even insisted on, my need to take time to ramp up to this frenetic pace.

Well, here we are, and what a first-of-its-kind day we’ve got in store.   

After a warm welcome from our Director, John Garrett, I’ll start by divulging my cautionary tale with cancer treatment. Oh boy, I’ve got a ton to say about western medicine failing miserably at every turn – and how taking control of my cancer care got me this far.

Next up, integrative oncology chaplain Michael Eselun will share a touching, personal story about loss and letting go. Michael is a gem of a storyteller who brings his audience to laughter and tears, whilst stepping into the dark side with ample tenderness.  

Sprinkling in some For Grace vibe, woman in pain and comedian Anna Polack will drop a witty take on the self-help movement. Later, she’ll host interactive “fun breaks” to bring in lightness.

Also, throughout our day, we’ll spotlight woman in pain and artist Radene Marie Cook’s exquisite pieces that depict the pain-cancer experience in endless passion and color.

Then we’ll launch into our four themed sessions: Problem, Solution, Experience and Moving On.

Dr. Wayne Jonas, Executive Director of the Samueli Foundation’s Integrative Health Programs, will present the “Problem” – how the inflammation of pain can lead to cancer and how cancer treatment can spark persistent pain. Dr. Jonas will also delve generously into the benefits of integrative care. His brilliant, positive take on healing is eye-opening, and I’m forever grateful for his steady guidance.

The “Solution” session will kick-off with one of my all-time favorite people, Christin Veasley, co-founder of the Chronic Pain Research Alliance. Simply put, Chris is the best, full of information and care. She’ll explore effective tips about how to become your own best advocate, including how to partner with your practitioner for best outcome.

Next up, one of my heroes, Dr. Keith Block, founder of the Block Center for Integrative Cancer Treatment, will go in-depth about how to keep one’s “terrain” healthy throughout active cancer treatment as well as the all-important post period to avoid a recurrence. Tragically, western medicine doesn’t acknowledge the terrain, but this is the stuff that saved me! In fact, Dr. Block’s book, Life Over Cancer, was my bible during treatment.

Dynamite wellness expert and fellow sister in pain, Dr. Susan Nyanzi, will follow with how common-sense, self-care lifestyle choices can help prevent most cancers. I say, “Amen to that, Dr. Nyanzi!” Just wish I’d heard this talk five years ago.

A dynamic panel of real-life pain and cancer patients will make up our “Experience” session. Moderated by the no-holdin’-back Rhonda Smith, breast cancer survivor and executive director at California Black Health Network, these folks will share, with us and each other, inside advice about getting best care, handling adversity, the importance of self-management, and improbable “gifts” along the way.         

We’ll end with the inspiration to “Move On” despite the challenges of these epic diseases. Yes, it’s all about hope and movement with Dr. Melissa Cady, DO. Also known as “The Challenge Doctor,” this force-of-nature will teach us how to reframe illness and use movement to find joy and less suffering.   

To put a bow on the day, cancer survivor and Bump In the Road podcaster, Pat Wetzel, will share how illness and misfortune drove her to transform her life into one of helping others, traveling the world and prompting folks to hit the road to find wellness and meaning. Seriously, there are no brakes on this full-speed-ahead woman, guaranteed to inspire! 

There’s no denying that cancer and pain are upending, life-altering, sometimes terminal diseases. But as this conference will illuminate, we can fight the good fight with dignity and grace.

Last year, during my darkest hours of chemo and COVID, when I actually forgot why I wanted to live, people from my circle of support bolstered me by phone, email, text and good ol’ snail mail, to keep me keepin’ on. Truly, I don’t know if I would have made it without them.

I want this conference to be that kind of support system for those who are wrangling with pain, cancer or both. I want its shared education to make it possible for one disease not to springboard into another. I want the day to remind us that there’s enough love in this world to make life worth fighting for.

Seeing so many beautiful people come together, volunteering their time to help others avoid my fate, humbles me – and makes my heart swell.    

I look forward to connecting with you on Friday, September 24 at 9am PDT (12pm EDT). You can watch the entire conference for free on our YouTube channel.      

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has lived with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 19 co-morbidities for nearly four decades, and became a cancer survivor in 2020. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”

The ‘Crazy’ Healing Power of Music

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

As a young person, I don’t remember a time when I didn’t live and breathe music.

In grade school, I couldn’t wait to get to the multi-purpose room for two reasons: chorus to sing my heart out and band to play my beloved flute. I pestered my mother relentlessly to let me start piano lessons before age seven (a family rule) because I loved the way it sounded and couldn’t wait to make the notes on the page come to life.

Then there was my favorite. When Mom brought home the record “Funny Girl”, I knew that I’d never stop singing. It was pure joy, an extension of myself. Indeed, the best part of Christmas each year was receiving a new Barbra Streisand album, a treasure that I cherished to the point of wearing out the grooves.

I grew to be a nonstop, never-gonna-quit singer, dancer and actor. It’s what I lived for, what I was born to do. Nothing was going to stop me – and in the end, nothing really did. While we don’t get to live our dreams with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, we can hold onto our passions in a different way. And for wellness alone, we ought to.

People gasp when they hear that I was unable to speak for five years due to CRPS, because that’s an unthinkable symptom caused by an unimaginable disease. But those same people overlook the fact that CRPS made me unable to sing for 15 years, like that was something disposable.

When I couldn’t sing, I didn’t get to be Cynthia. Something fundamental and basic was stripped away from me. And with that went my expression and joy.

Lately I’m hearing lots about the healing powers of expressive therapy and how creative pursuits like dancing, painting, writing and acting can unleash “feel-good” hormones (like endorphins and oxytocin) that lessen pain, depression and anxiety. I’ve also come to understand that the part of the brain that drives creativity distracts from the part that controls pain. That’s certainly been the case with me.

Cooler still, partaking in one expressive therapy can lead to the recovery of another. It was soon after writing my memoir that I could feel my body getting ready to sing again. Regaining my voice was nothing short of a miracle and, to this day, I don’t really understand how it happened. My best guess is that through the narrative therapy process I purged negative feelings and wounds, opening a healing space. But in the end, does it matter?

Now that I’ve regained my strong vocal chords, I take every opportunity to express this joy. I sing with bands, in choirs, duets with musicians and a cappella harmony trios. I also love to record – and just finished my second CD titled Crazy, which I dedicated to “women in pain who know they’re not.” 

This album was a real labor of love as I took my time (in fact, seven years!) to record it. The obstacles throughout were many – multiple CRPS flares, a broken elbow that went untreated and undiagnosed for a year, a lupus infusion drug that nearly did me in, and, oh yeah, breast cancer.

For this album, I delighted in choosing songs that took me down memory lane, songs that I loved while growing up and that speak differently to me post-illness. I had to quickly wrap up my last two recordings in December 2019 as the dark chemo clouds loomed.

Then, after becoming an unlikely cancer survivor, I eagerly designed my cover. I hadn’t been on a beach for 35 years and was bald, but that didn’t stop me from being a mermaid, leaning against my fears while having them bolster me to look toward a bright future. 

I want Crazy to bring joy and laughter to those who suffer. I’m hoping this near-and-dear project will inspire us to turn our backs on fear and “impossibles,” reignite our passions and courageously move on.

I still hear from women in pain who are stuck in the elusive search for a cure in hopes of recapturing their past. Here’s the thing – we don’t get to go back.

Our choice is to stay stuck and miserable – or let the “cure” delusion go and partake in things that bring us healing and wholeness. I’m certain that one of the tickets forward is expressive therapy. When we stir our soulful passions, wellness follows.

As a former “triple threat” performer, it’s the expressive arts that continue to inspire me to heal. For you it might be a way different sort of passion. Perhaps nature, animal welfare or the pursuit of justice is your buzz. Bottom line, we all need to find ways to differently recapture what clicks our heels and makes the hair on the back of our necks stand straight. 

Being a long-time member of the Kingdom of the Sick doesn’t exclude us from the pursuit of joy. I know it’s easier said than done when wrangling with the likes of CRPS, migraine or lupus. But it’s essential to living a full, authentic life, one worth seeing the glow of a spectacular sunset.            

I don’t think there’s anything crazy about that.                     

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has lived with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 19 co-morbidities for nearly four decades, and became a cancer survivor in 2020. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”

Click here to download or order her Crazy CD.

Finding Grace in Family-Induced Pain and Trauma

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

About 20 years ago, my mother called to share what felt like a disorientating thought.

“Cynthia, of all the members of our family, you’re the together one, the capable one and the successful one,” she said.

Though flattered, my thinking was, “How can that be? I’m the daughter with all the problems. The pain, the wheelchair, the one left childless without her show-biz career.”

I’m guessing now that my mother was intuitively letting me in on a secret -- a generations-long family secret. By telling me I had the right stuff, Mom was revealing that I’d broken the trauma cycle. She potently advised that I never let my family members hold me back, to “never not succeed because of them.”

That day I realized I’d done something exceptional, but I didn’t fully understand what it was. You’d think 38 years of chronic pain would have opened my eyes, but it took a cancer crisis for me to deeply examine what my mother was shedding light on.

I come from a profoundly dysfunctional family (domestic violence, divorce, mental illness, suicide, alcoholism, etc.), one so traumatizing my doctor believes that the toll of trying to fix my family, along with the inflammation of CRPS, was what gave me cancer. To have a chance at survival, I had to walk away from the toxic members of my family, which was the hardest and best decision of my life.

Unfortunately though, walking away might not be enough. Now that I’m in remission, I’m concerned that my inability to unlock from my frequent harmful thoughts about the trauma of past assaults will bring on a swift and more aggressive cancer recurrence.

Trauma Release

Enter EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization & Repossessing). For the uninitiated, EMDR is a psychotherapy treatment designed to alleviate the distress associated with traumatic memories. For years studies have shown that people with serious adult-onset illnesses – including high-impact pain and cancer – experienced many adverse childhood events (ACE’s), as I did.

I’ve long considered doing EMDR for trauma release, but feared stirring up the debilitating depression that my family often sparks. I won’t lie to you. My EMDR plunge has been god-awful, as it’s brought on a ton of expected grieving and even rage. That being said, I’m sticking with it - and astonished by EMDR’s effectiveness and the insight it evokes.

My phenomenal practitioner, Kathy, has pointed out two major, life changing themes. The first, that family trauma is handed down over many generations, adversely changing our gene expression through what’s termed epigenetics. Sadly, I was born into the thick of this ever-rolling harm.

When I was seven, my dad jumped off a bridge due to severe mental illness. Much dysfunction led to his suicide, but this was the tipping point that my family of origin never recovered from.

After sharing what limited knowledge I had of my dad’s past, Kathy quickly assessed that, like me, he had a traumatic childhood. I was stunned to learn that his parent’s alcoholism, affairs and abandonments, along with all of the denial and covering-up, deeply wounded him. That insight gifted me great empathy for the person who shattered my world.

Mom’s side of the family was equally trauma-inducing. After her parent’s ugly divorce and Grandma having my loving grandfather committed to an institution, she had my mother kidnapped. Legend has it that this broke my aunt Grace’s heart, as her agonizing death from leukemia at age 20 soon followed.

To this day, even with advanced dementia, my mother describes her own grandmother as “a witch, the most evil person I ever met.” It goes on and on.

Healing My Inner Child

I finally understand that I have a family tree evergreen with trauma, the root of all my physical and psychological illness.

The second theme Kathy put forth is that to release my trauma we have to heal my “inner child.” I now understand that even as a fetus I took in the negative chemicals and vibe of my mother’s nightmarish situation – and it’s my inner child who’s carrying the greatest injury. The work is tricky because to reach her, we must maneuver around the many protective, life-preserving mechanisms she’s used for 60 years.

With Kathy’s guidance via Zoom, I’m slowly making friends with my inner child. While I want to protect her from the knowledge of a tragic future, ultimately I have to be vulnerable enough to let her spill the repressed memories of violence and dysfunction that host the lion’s share of our trauma.

My hope is that by healing my inner child I can end the cycle of excruciating harm I endure when I think about my family’s countless trespasses. If I can get to a strong landing point of understanding and release, my depression will turn to just sadness – and from there I can move on with better wellness.  

I want to be free.        

No matter the outcome, Mom was on to something. Thankfully, I’ve cracked the family code by asking why and doing the hard work. As Kathy reminds me, I choose “to think, not drink” - and because I don’t maintain the dysfunctional status quo, I’ve “jumped out of a sinking ship.”

All this time I thought my life had been upended by pain, but I now realize it was family trauma that caused every ounce of my misfortunate.    

This insight lovingly brings me to my aunt Grace who, by breaking the family trauma cycle, saved my mother. While I never met her, I see Grace as an angel and forever feel a deep connection, so much so I named my work for her goodness.

We’ve always been compared, and I now see that our similarity extends beyond looks and personality. A quote I continue to hear in my research about generational trauma is “The first born daughter often carries what remains unresolved in the mother.”

Grace and I were the eldest daughters and gave everything to save our broken families, an impossible task.

GRACE HAeRING

It cost my dear aunt her life – and I think she’s proud watching me fight for mine.

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has lived with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 15 co-morbidities for nearly four decades, and became a cancer survivor in 2020. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”

Playing With Fire: Should I Have Cancer Surgery?

By Cynthia Toussaint, PNN Columnist

As a woman with high impact pain for 38 years, I was stunned last July to receive a triple-negative breast cancer diagnosis. Seriously, God, how much more can I endure? I felt the tumor for a year before being checked because, with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 15 co-morbidities, I didn’t think cancer treatment was an option.

It took me half a year before plunging into the impossible – and I started chemotherapy in January. With triple-negative cancer (the worst prognosis), the only prospect of living includes chemo. If I was responsive to the drugs, I believed I had a shot -- if pain didn’t destroy me first.

I’d done my shopping and found an oncologist willing to follow my integrative doctor’s advice for the best outcome with fewest side-effects. That meant lower and slower dosing, no Neulasta (a wicked drug that keeps your immune cells robust at the cost of intense bone pain), infusion breaks, supplements to ward off neuropathy, and acupuncture before each infusion.

I was also diligent about my healthy, cancer-fighting life style choices – a plant-based diet, daily intensive exercise, regular mindfulness meditation, removal of toxic people and excellent sleep hygiene.   

It worked! My oncologist’s dream goal of 18 infusions is one away from being in the books (most people stop at twelve) and I can’t stop smiling as my follow-up imaging is crystal clear.

Despite every western oncologist chiding me along the way for doing my chemo “less effectively” with complementary integrative therapies, I’ve had a clinical complete response. This is the hope of everyone with triple-negative.

Conversely, the only person I’ve met with this rare sub-set of breast cancer relied solely on western medicine – and her cancer has already metastasized to her brain. 

Hardest Decision

CYNTHIA TOUSSAINT

Now my oncologists insist on doing a “minor” surgery to sample tissue from the “tumor bed” and previously effected lymph nodes. If the tissue confirms a pathological complete response, as everyone expects, I’ll have a 90% plus chance of survival for the next 5-10 years. If they find any leftover cancer cells that will embed and begin to grow, we’ll continue treatment.

I can feel those of you with CRPS grimacing. Yes, of course, I want to avoid surgery at all cost, but this is my life, and the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.

My track record with CRPS and surgery stinks to high hell. As a young woman, I was given an unnecessary LEEP procedure for cervical dysplasia, which I’ve since learned usually fixes itself. As a result of that minor surgery and cauterization, my CRPS spread, and subsequently I was unable to have a baby – which is one of the great tragedies of my life.

When I was 40, I was diagnosed for the first time with breast cancer and told that without surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, I had just a few months to live. I was terrified, but didn’t trust western medicine anymore.

After researching my diagnosis, ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS), and learning that these calcifications in the milk duct almost never become invasive, I chose to “watch and wait.” Even when my mom broke down, crying and begging, “Please, Cynthia, I just want them to take the cancer out of you!” -- I didn’t budge for fear of a CRPS blow up. The calcifications never grew and to this day I warn women about the over care of DCIS.

About a decade ago, a physical therapist wanted to try to straighten my CRPS-contracted right arm. The therapy seemed far too risky, and I only relented when she promised to work exclusively on my head, neck and back. But she cheated and yanked, breaking my right arm. I was at a level ten pain again. It took a year to get an x-ray and correct diagnosis because I was labeled a “catastrophizing” patient.

The orthopedic surgeon told me that without elbow surgery I’d never use my right arm again. In the end, I didn’t trust the medical professionals who broke my arm to “fix” it. Instead, I got into my beloved YMCA swimming pool, did mirror therapy and strengthening exercises in the surrounding area – and my arm slowly regained near-full function.

Fortunately, I’ve forever had the gut instinct to pass on multiple recommendations for spinal cord stimulators and intra-thecal pumps, knowing the surgeries would do far more harm than good.

So here I am again, having to decide on surgery or not. But this time the stakes are much higher.

With the exception of one surgeon I know who understands CRPS because he’s triggered it with breast surgeries, every western doctor is consistent. They’re horrified by the prospect of me not doing the standard of care surgery to confirm or rule out a complete response. When the surgeon heard my plight, he responded with, “Cynthia, this surgery could very well destroy your life.” Damn right.

In my research to glean wisdom for this impossible decision, I’ve come upon two recent, small studies. They support the protocol of post-chemo, minimally-invasive biopsy or “watch and wait” as an effective substitute for surgery to confirm a complete response. This may be the future for treating triple-negative cancer. But in 2020, taking this unproven route would leave me with the terrible anxiety of not knowing. Worse yet, I could suffer a quick recurrence.

What fire do I play with this go around? Do I potentially reignite my CRPS or my cancer embers? All I can do is go with my gut and heart, and call in the good karma chips from the universe I’m certainly owed.

Can anyone thread the CRPS-cancer needle? I guess I’m going to find out.                              

Cynthia Toussaint is the founder and spokesperson at For Grace, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of women in pain. She has had Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and 15 co-morbidities for nearly four decades. Cynthia is the author of “Battle for Grace: A Memoir of Pain, Redemption and Impossible Love.”